


land speed record

by reallivewire (WonderAvian)



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAvian/pseuds/reallivewire
Summary: Being dominant doesn't stop Michael from being a power bottom, and vice versa.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You, Trans Male Character/Trans Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	land speed record

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm actually posting porn on the Internet, You x Character, no less. I usually quite despise reader POV writing quite a bit, but I decided to give it a go anyway, since I figured it would probably make my friends in the discord go ape shit. So here you are, fellow slasher fans, and enjoy. Yours sincerely, a rather disgruntled sex-repulsed aromantic asexual genderqueer individual.

Life can be so very odd sometimes. In the case of your new housemate, well. Its not exactly something you would ever have imagined happening.

The Boogeyman, or perhaps better known by his other moniker, the Shape, is a dangerous, nigh unstoppable serial killer. He is said to be borderline supernatural, incapable of being reasoned with or threatened. And yet here you are, scolding Michael Myers for butchering one of the neighbourhood's many (not-so) innocent residents. 

"Michael! What did I tell you about killing people?"

Michael ducks his head. If you didn't know better, you would say he was ashamed.

Michael retrieves the notepad you convinced him to carry with him from one of his inner pockets. He writes his reply in blood.

"To not do it."

You nod exasperatedly, hands on your hips.

"Yes! And what to you do?"

Michael just stares at you. You're starting to get the impression he doesn't like rhetorical questions very much.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. You can feel a headache coming on.

Michael is cruel and clever, but for some unknown reason he treats you kindly, for the most part. Heaven only knows why he's so nonlethally fascinated with you. You just wish he would learn to extend that mercy to others.

Yeah, right, like that will ever happen. The

Shape is one stubborn bastard. Its why you gave up on kicking him out of the house.

"Right, well, I'm going to bed. Clean yourself up before anything else, okay?"

Michael reaches out, but he pulls his hand back at the last second, looking frustrated. He then actually has the audacity to point at his crotch.

You shake your head. The nerve of this man.

"No getting freaky until you've showered."

You turn and walk away, muttering incredulously to yourself.

"Asshole."

Michael doesn't stab you in the back as you leave him standing there in the hallway, so you count it as a win. You push open the bathroom door and start getting ready for bed.

You've barely finished brushing your teeth when a clean hand clasps all the way around your forearm. You follow the hand up to a bare chest. Michael looks at you expectantly, naked and dripping wet.

"That must have been the quickest shower in living history," you snicker, and Michael's eye twitches. He pulls you with him to the bedroom, ignoring your protests.

"Michael, for goodness sake," you complain, but he silences you with a long, lean finger against your lips. You glare at him, fully expecting him to toss you down onto the bed and have his way with you.

Instead, he surprises you by sitting down first and pulling you onto his lap.

"Um, what?"

Michael starts undressing you, which okay, you can work with. You help him strip the clothes from your body, until you are just as naked as he is.

He appraises you thoroughly, his eyes bottomless pools of deepest black. You wonder if he knows how pretty they are, and how much he's turning you on.

"What do you want to do - shit, Michael!"

In one swift movement, Michael has gripped your hips and is falling backwards, pulling you forward so he can bury his face in your hole. His deft tongue curls and seaches forward inside you, and you shriek as your nerves are stimulated and set on fire.

"Fuck! Holy shit, Michael!"

There's a huff that could be Michael's version of a laugh, though it could very well mean something entirely different in a large range of things. Michael is difficult to read at the best of times, and he flat-out refuses to expand his repertoire of non-verbal, non-written communication. He fondles your dick with his tongue, and you cry out as he mercilessly wrings your orgasm from you.

"No - no more - " You smack weakly at his shoulders. "That's enough, you can stop - "

Michael grunts, but he ceases his administrations. He manouvers you back so you can lay against his front, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Blinking up at him, you see his lips twitch, clearly proud with himself.

"Fucker," you hiss, and smack him again.

Michael waits until you're not panting like a dog before he draws your attention to his own hole. He presses your fingers insistently against it, eyes dark with intent.

"Okay, okay, fine," you relent, and he relaxes.

Your hands move slowly down Michael's body. You feel the muscles of his back, his arms and legs. His thighs glisten with wetness, his arousal.

"Fuck, you're soaking," you realise in awe, picking up some of the slickness on your fingers. "You've really got it bad, don't you?"

Michael grabs your hand impatiently. You obediently press inside.

His legs tremble as you massage him, opening him up. You feel a hand in your hair, the other on your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" You ask softly, and wait until he nods.

You scissor him slowly, and he wraps his legs around your torso. Strong, capable of crushing you.

"More?" You ask. "Faster?"

His legs tighten around you and pull you closer in response.

You begin to pump your fingers in and out of him.

Michael makes a keening noise in his throat, the loudest sound you ever hear from him. He humps your fingers, and you pick up the pace until you are practically blasting him, brutal and unforgiving.

If it were anyone else, they surely would have come by now. But Michael isn't anyone else. With your fingers deep inside him, he grabs your wrist. You stop, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

Michael glances to the side, where a prosthetic cock sits on the bedside table.

"You want it already? Alright then, horny boy." You chuckle, shaking your head. "Just remember you asked for it."

He reaches over and grabs the prosthetic cock. He holds it suspiciously in his hands, inspecting its frankly impressive length and girth. He looks up at you, judgemental.

"Don't be a hypocrite. I know you're a size queen. You like it, right?" You grin, and slowly run your hands up and down his back.

His nose wrinkles and he all but shoves the prosthetic at you. You fumble to catch it, laughing at the look he gives you; a pout menacing enough that if looks could kill it would be deadly.

You attach the prosthetic easily enough and line yourself up with his waiting hole. He watches intently. When you dare to tease at his entrance, he growls and flips the two of you over, reversing your positions. Michael straddles your waist and sinks down heavily on the prosthetic.

"Whoa, careful there!" You exclaim worriedly, but he only rides you faster.

You buck your hips up to help him, and suddenly his hands are around your neck.

"Michael," you gasp, and jerk wildly as your breath is stolen from you.

Michael's eyes widen as he is pounded hard. His grip around your throat slackens, and he sags on top of you just long enough that his weight starts to crush your middle before straightening up, arching his back and riding you harder.

You continue to thrust as Michael nears his climax, and he just about strangles you when he finally comes around the prosthetic cock. You watch as his body contracts around it, clenching as if for dear life. You manage to fuck him through his orgasm, thrusts unintentionally more punishing due to the lack of air, and he spasms violently before stilling.

He slumps to the side, and you shakily remove the prosthetic so you can cuddle him.

He gratefully presses his forehead against your own; your preferred form of physical affection as opposed to the more upsetting kiss. That sense of comfort and connection established, he settles in with his head nestled in the crook of your shoulder.

Michael's breath is soft and quiet. His curls brush against your nose. He seems more carefree, less tense in his sleep. Looking at him, holding him like this, you could almost pretend it's a normal life, and that Michael Myers isn't a monster.

You don't pretend, though. You never do, because you know it would be a stupid, selfish thing to do, and you refuse to lie to yourself like so many others have done.

You run your fingers through Michael's curls absently, gaze forward but mind elsewhere, before you, too, fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you would like to see more of this in the future, leave a comment down below, or send me a message on my horror tumblr @reallivewire. I'd love to hear from you, even if its just to say hi. Thanks again, and have a good day.
> 
> Be good people.


End file.
